


Fertile Minds

by o0katiekins0o



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 07:37:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2220951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0katiekins0o/pseuds/o0katiekins0o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Molly makes a very generous offer to a dear friend, Sherlock begins to see the depth of Molly's love and loyalty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be Multi-chapter. I just had to get all this out before it left my head. Stay tuned!

"Oh my, it's warm in here! I know it's winter but do they need to have the heating up _so_ high?" Molly complained and shed her lab coat briefly to remove her jumper underneath, ungracefully. Now down to just her frilly button-up blouse she replaced her lab coat. 

Sherlock glanced up at her with a curious expression, she bundled her hair in one hand, lifting it off of her neck and fanned herself with the other hand. It really was not that warm in Bart's, he'd not even bothered removing his suit jacket after he got ready for a lazy day of tinkering in the lab and hassling Molly for specimens, due to the chill. He filed the observation away and went back to his microscope. 

She grabbed a stainless steel water bottle from her enormous purse and took several deep gulps finishing with an "ahh!". No coffee? _Highly unusual_. He narrowed his eyes and added that observation to the file. 

Thirst slaked for now, Molly returned to her work. She carefully placed a tray of tools in the autoclave, she shut it and pressed a few buttons to initiate the sterilization process but, instead of complying, it made an unfortunate sounding screech/beep. She sighed in frustration, checked the tray, all was fine. She grumbled and pressed the necessary sequence of buttons again and it made the "error" noise again. "Damn it!" She growled and started the process over for the third time and for a third time it made the error alert noise.

"Fuck! God Damned piece of shit!" She beat the top with the side of her fist while she shouted abuse at it. Flustered, she tried again and when it failed to work the fourth time she kicked it again and again shouting unintelligibly. 

Sherlock thought maybe now would be a good time to intercede. Jumping up from his place at the lab table he rushed over and taking her by the shoulders gently pulled her away from the machine. He looked at the pin pad on the front of the door and carefully read the error message, "It just needs more solution, Molly. While I can never be accused of pacifism, I will agree that violence is not always the answer." He gave her a playful smirk but she was flushed and angry, apparently in no mood to give quarter to his smugness. 

"Ugh! Fuck you, Sherlock!" She shouted then immediately covered her face that was suddenly stricken with sadness. "I'm sorry I didn't mean that." She sniffed. He was taken aback, although not in the least incensed. Molly was acting extremely out of character since he'd seen her last. "It's just these fucking hormones! Ugh! I hate it!" She growled before rushing to get solution for the autoclave. 

Hormones, that explained it he supposed. Mood swings, flushed and overheated- pretty standard symptoms of menstruation.

He understood it was not a good idea to point that out, women often did not like their menstrual cycles being brought into discussion in general. And he'd learned the hard way that attempting to explain away any actions or feelings based on it was, essentially, an act of war.

Yes he would just casually side-step the whole hormones comment altogether. Mind Palace Mary gave him a thumbs up for his wise decision making. 

An hour or so passed of companionable silence. Molly brought him coffee although she still was not partaking herself. He brushed it off, sometimes menstruating women have gastric distress that can be aggravated by caffeine, it's likely she was avoiding it for this reason.

Some time after noon a man Sherlock did not recognize swanned into the lab like he owned the place, carrying takeaway boxes.

Sherlock gave him a once-over: clearly well-educated, given his carriage. Moderately successful, probably a barrister going by his mode of dress, classically handsome, monied family an excellent catch, and making a beeline straight for Molly. Sherlock tensed. The man caught Sherlock's stare and gave him a friendly nod.

"David!" Molly exclaimed, she held out her arms beaming as he walked toward her. "There's my girl!" He responded lovingly. He set down the two takeaway boxes next to her on the table and pulled her into a tight hug ending in a familiar, but chaste, peck on the lips.

"How are you today?" He asked. Even though the embrace had ended he still had his arm draped over her shoulder. His tone of voice was sickeningly saccharine and, much to Sherlock's horror, totally sincere. 

"I'm fine just a bit..." She made a ridiculous hand gesture "you know? These hormones..."

"I know." He replied sympathetically with a slight pout, toying with her hair affectionately. "You're taking the vitamins the doctor gave you?" 

She rolled her eyes in playful exasperation, "Of course!" 

"Keeping them down alright?" He pressed. 

"They make me a bit more queasy but I never take them on an empty stomach so they're not giving me any fits. How's Terry? How's your mum?" 

"Wonderful. So excited!" He sighed giving her another gentle squeeze and she smiled the widest smile Sherlock had ever seen her make.

She'd certainly never smiled like that for him. He grumbled internally.

"I brought lunch!" He pushed a Styrofoam box toward her. 

"Aww you're a love!" She opened it and her lips curled, nose wrinkling when the smell hit her. 

David looked stricken. "Oh no! You love Greek salad!" 

Molly shut the box quickly and pushed it away leaning her head against his chest and taking even measured breaths.

"Oh Molly." David patted her back to comfort her. "Do you need to be sick? It's ok if you do." He said in a hushed voice. She shook her head. 

"Just need a minute." She spoke into his chest. 

"I'm so sorry!" He whimpered. "I feel awful. Greek food? What was I thinking?" He shook his head. "Here, you can have my pasta." He swappped the boxes. 

"Please don't feel bad. It was sweet of you to bring this." She smiled weakly after she recovered. She opened the box with the pasta and took a tentative sniff. "Oh this is lovely!" She said overly-enthusiastic in order to make him feel better. 

He took her gesture and smiled warmly. "I'd better be off, I just had to make sure you had something to eat. No more working through lunch, love." He admonished affectionately before dropping a kiss on the top of her head with another loving squeeze. "You're still coming to Mum's for tea, Sunday right? If you feel up to it. If you're ill we can reschedule. No pressure." 

Molly bit her lip and grinned, eyes sparkling. "Wild horses couldn't drag me away." 

"Wonderful." He cupped her face tenderly gave her a final kiss on the lips. "Ta, Molly!"

"Ta!" She answered. He took the styrofoam box that held the offending Greek salad under his arm and strolled out, giving Sherlock another friendly nod before leaving.

Molly appraised the pasta for a moment, picking at it with a plastic fork before acknowledging Sherlock. 

"I suppose you have some questions- or deductions, for me." She invited taking a small bite of pasta and made an approving expression.

"Well, congratulations seem to be in order." Sherlock simply replied. 

"I know it's odd. It all just sort of happened. Bit of a whirlwind you know?"

No Sherlock  _didn't_ know but he  nodded anyway. 

"David was my boyfriend at Uni and we kept in touch, Christmas cards, Facebook and that. We reconnected a few months ago and-" 

"Congratulations." Sherlock interrupted "He seems like he'd make a great father. And I've always known you would make a wonderful mother." 

Molly gave a pained look at that statement and drooped her head to pick at her pasta. "Yes he'll be a fantastic father but..."

Sherlock looked confused.

Molly sniffed and composed herself. "I'm not this baby's mother." She gave a weak grin. 

"Oh... OH!" Sherlock's eyes widened at the revelation. 

"David is gay. Terry is his partner. The egg came from Terry's sister who died of cancer years ago. Her family had her eggs frozen in case one day... Anyway they decided to grow their family and I offered." Molly explained making a conscientious effort to steady her breathing. 

Sherlock felt a weight lift off his chest. "Molly that's so..." 

"Don't, Sherlock!" Molly cut him off. "I can't hear another lecture about how stupid all this is. It's done. I'm having this baby. That's that." Tears actually fell from her eyes unhindered now.

He rose from his seat and crossed over to her offering a handkerchief. "It's the kind of act of selfless generosity I've come to expect from you, Molly. It wouldn't be like you to refuse." 

Molly accepted the handkerchief and dabbed her eyes carefully. "Selfless, isn't that just a nicer word for stupid?" She smiled meekly. 

Sherlock chuckled. "Sometimes." He admitted. He drew an arm around her shoulders and brought her in for a half-hug "But not this time." 

"Thank you, Sherlock. Besides David and Terry you're the only person who knows that had anything nice to say." She furrowed her brow at her own words. "Are you sure you're well?" She jokingly put her hand over his forehead to take his temperature.

He chuckled again. "I take it your mum isn't as excited as David's?" 

"That I'm carrying the offspring of my gay ex and his partner's dead sister conceived in a Petri dish? She's not exactly bragging to the neighbors. No." She dabbed her eyes again as she sniffed despite the joking tone in her voice. "But I've always thought- well I've always wanted to be a mum and it doesn't look like that will happen. May as well put my reproductive health to good use before accepting spinsterhood. God why am I telling you this? I'm sorry. We both have work to do..." 

Sherlock just gave a close-lipped smile. Before dropping a friendly kiss onto her cheek and returning to his corner of the lab.

So many thoughts ran through his vast mind but Molly and the new direction her life has taken stood in the forefront. 

He was proud of her for her generous spirit. She was the most giving person he knew. He also felt guilt.

Maybe if he hadn't strung her along, left her hung up on him so she could manipulate her for his own purposes she would have gotten the things she wanted for herself. Instead of resigning to just being the vessel for someone else's hopes and goals.

He also knew that even if she was a married mother in a brownstone with a tire swing and golden retriever she would still do this for a friend. That's the kind of person she is. Was there really anything so wrong with what Molly wanted- marriage, family, children that she shouldn't have it?

He had to wonder. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a small case Sherlock needs some minor medical attention and takes a kip at Molly's but she needs him more than he needs her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This gets a bit dark. Sorry in advance. Trigger warning for miscarriage.

These thugs were just idiots. It was hard to pretend they had him on the ropes, however despite how unspectacular his performance may have been, they bought it. Idiots.

Thug B held him, gripping his forearms behind his back. First mistake. While Thug A paced in front of him trying (and failing) to project some sort of menacing bravado while fiddling with a switch blade before grabbing Sherlock by the shirt collar and leaning close. Second mistake. 

This moron was so close Sherlock could almost taste the bile on the man's breath, clearly a sufferer of irritable bowel syndrome. Good thing for him, prison food is known to be notoriously bland.

Sherlock reared his head back and slammed his forehead into the bridge of Thug A's nose. It broke with a loud crack and the man fell like a rag doll. Then proceeded to give Thug B the same treatment with the back of his head. He made quick work with restraining them. He had taken to using zip-ties, so much lighter and easier than hand cuffs. 

He did take time to check their vitals before leaving them on the floor. If broken in the right place, bone shards from the bridge of the nose can actually pierce the frontal lobe, killing instantly. They were both fine, relatively speaking.

Sherlock had always been accused of being hard-headed.

Color flashes painted the walls from the police cars outside. The yard had arrived, late, per usual. It was all sort of going through the motions after that. 

He felt a tickle over his scalp as blood dripped over his forehead while he wrapped things up with Lestrade. He offered to give him a ride to A&E but Sherlock brushed him off. He didn't want some inexperienced nurse shaving his head to stitch his scalp. 

Instead he bunched his scarf up and pressed it against the wound to stem the flow of blood, hopped in a cab and gave the driver Molly's address. 

 

* * *

 

In less than an hour he was in a chair in Molly's kitchen while she skilfully parted his hair and stitched up the gash. 

"So the victim kidnapped herself?" Molly yawned as she spoke, tying off the last stitch. 

"Yes. Kept woman, cut off by her lover, owed money to some unsavory characters blah blah blah. Dull." He waved nonchalantly. 

Molly giggled. "So sort of like 'The Big Lebowski'?" 

"The what?" Sherlock turned to look at her. 

Molly giggled again. "It's a cult comedy. That's essentially the premise." She explained. 

He rolled his eyes. Knowing that it was stupid enough idea to be the premise to a comedy made it even more dull. 

"Are you staying?" Molly asked. "I mean it's late, it's fine if you want to but I need the bed. You're welcome to stay on the sofa or the guest room or..." 

"Yes, thank you Molly. I think I may. But first I need-" 

"There's leftover takeaway in the fridge. I'll put the kettle on. You know where everything is, help yourself." She smiled and walked to the kitchen to start tea for him before giving him a friendly kiss on the forehead  and returning to bed. "Night Sherlock." 

"Night Molly." He smiled at her warmly. 

When he'd eaten and changed into the spare pyjamas he kept there he quietly crept into her room, careful not to wake her. He saw why she needed her bed. She had quite an elaborate set up of fans aimed at her side of the bed with only a thin sheet to cover her. 

In the dim light pouring through the crack in the door he could see a constellation of small, dark bruises on her upper hip from the daily intramuscular injections.

Although she was a very skilled doctor, it was an awkward placement for self-administration. He knew she wouldn't have even attempted to give herself some relief by switching to her right side since she's right-handed and she sleeps on that side.

He carefully pulled back the duvet and slid beside her, pulling it up to his nose to protect him from the chill of the room. He watched her chest rise and fall, counting her breaths before drifting off to sleep himself.

 

* * *

 

He only slept a few hours before he was awoken by rustling in the en suite and hushed talking.

"I know, I'm just gathering my things. I'll meet you both there. I-I'm so sorry, Terry." There was a quiet sob. "I know. I know. Thank you. See you soon." A beep as she rang off. 

Sherlock rubbed his eyes and rolled over to find a large puddle of blood soaked into Molly's side of the bed. He sprang up and crossed the room to the door of the en suite. 

"Molly?" He spoke through the door, rapping lightly. He heard clamoring and sniffling. "Molly are you alright?"

"Just... Just a moment!" He heard her shout before a loud thud and a pained whimper. 

"I'm opening the door now, Molly!" he warned before pushing it open firmly. He found her sprawled on the tiles blood everywhere, soaking in frightening blooms on her nightgown. Her face was splotchy with and swollen with tear streaks and she was dreadfully pale. 

"Christ!" Sherlock exclaimed dropping to his knees to haul her upright. "We need to get you to the hospital!" 

"It's ok. This happened before. Just give me a moment. I need to get dressed and..." She was trembling. 

Sherlock jumped up and rushed back to her room, snatching sweat pants and a jumper from her dresser. He returned to the en suit. 

Kneeling in front of her, he put her arms on his shoulders and pulled her shakily to her feet. He helped her step into her pants and without another thought, flung her blood sodden nightie off of her frail body and pulled the jumper over her head. 

She leaned limply against his chest as he dressed her. He could feel tears wetting his shirt while her breath came in shuttering pants.

Once dressed he carried her to her sitting room and crushed her flats onto her feet. He stepped quickly into his own shoes and threw coats on them both before dragging them out of her flat onto the curb to flag down a cab. 

"St. Bart's, now!" He shouted and they sped through the fog of dawn.  


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been forever since I updated this. But I'd had this chapter half written camping out in drafts since I started writing this and came back to it. I can't bring myself to abandon this one.

She looked so fragile, so breakable, lain delicately in the hospital bed. She was gaunt, with next to no color in her face save for a bit of blue around her eyes and trembling lips.

She shivered and pulled the sheets closer around her, wincing a bit as the movement of her wrist troubled the IV in her hand. The nurse who'd placed it was sloppy and she was certain to have a large bruise once it was removed. This thought caused Sherlock to grind his teeth in anger. 

He had no words, he felt frozen. Trapped by the sight of her, he simply stared. She turned to look at him, but it took longer for her eyes to catch up with the movement of her head. She met his gaze and looked as if she was considering something to say to him but in her exhaustion she found it difficult to pin down the words.

She hadn't spoken the whole cab ride over and Sherlock had to speak on her behalf in triage. Due to the severity of her situation she was ushered into a private room right away and had her immediate needs seen to by a nurse. 

The staff didn't question Sherlock's presence by her side. A man in his pyjamas escorting a miscarrying woman through A&E at an ungodly time of day- people simply drew the usual conclusions.

He didn't see a reason to clarify the true nature of her circumstances and risk being asked to leave or wait in the visitor's area. He wouldn't force her to endure the pitying stares of the staff alone, not that he was certain his presence could do anything to mitigate that, given that his own eyes likely carried a similar expression. Consciously, he schooled his face back to his characteristic mask of indifference. 

She seemed comforted by that tiny amount of the familiar in this frightening and unfamiliar situation.

Good. That was good. He turned over his memories for some other action he could take to comfort her further but he was drawing a blank. He simply had no frame of reference for anything like this. 

She looked completely knackered, her eyes were drooped but not closed as she shifted uncomfortably on the bed. It was clear she wanted to sleep but couldn't. The light of the room was grating, made even more penetrative by the stark white of the walls.

He glanced around the room until his eyes landed on a dimmer switch. Without a word he rose and adjusted the dimmer switch until the light of the room was muted to a comfortable level. She gave a soft sigh and blinked slowly in approval before closing them altogether as her breath steadied to a restful pace.

A long moment passed and he was sure she'd fallen asleep until he saw her arm shift from under the blanket, rise beneath the cover and land palm up, away from her body in an unconscious request for contact. He shifted his chair closer to her bed and obliged, taking her small hand in his larger one. She was terribly cold and he could see the blue trails of her veins running along the length of her arm in stark contrast to the ghostly paleness of her flesh. With his other hand he adjusted the blanket so that it draped over her exposed shoulder. The sudden shift in temperature caused her to shudder but she seemed to relax deeper. 

The room was silent, aside from an intermittent beeping from a monitor nearby and the muffled goings-on of those outside. The ticking of the clock on the opposite wall was almost thunderous. Glancing up at it caused him to take note of the time. In a mere 3 hours she will be expected to report for her shift at the morgue. 

With his free hand he slid his mobile from the pocket of his Belstaff draped across his shoulders to shield him from the chill of the room, and sent a brief text to Mike Stamford. 

_Personal Emergency. Molly will not be able to make it in for her shift. -SH_

He didn't think it wise to elaborate further. He wasn't sure who all she'd made aware of her endeavors into fertility and didn't want to make her fodder for any more workplace gossip than she, undoubtedly, was already- mostly by association with him. 

_Everything alright? -MS_

Sherlock didn't answer. He honestly didn't know. Any speculation he had to offer tread dangerously close to divulging more information than was his to give. Instead, he ignored the text and slid the phone back into his pocket. 

 

* * *

 

Molly felt drained, empty, listless. This dark sleep fell like falling, like dying. Down and down and down where did it end? She didn't even have the strength to be afraid. 

She felt a warm hand enfolding hers. 

 _At least I'm not alone._ She thought. Then her heart sunk when she realized why she was here.

Again. She failed David and Terry again.

The first time, the miscarriage happened far earlier, it really hadn't taken in the first place. They were assured by the doctors that this was common and that multiple rounds would likely be necessary.

The second time they discussed the option of implanting multiples. Mostly in terms of how Molly felt about carrying multiples, and less about the reality that implanting multiples increased the odds that at least one would take. 

That time they implanted two and they lost both.

Given her age and that she was nulliparous (never having been pregnant before) they decided to see another specialist for a second opinion. 

That specialist recommended implanting more blastocysts, this time 4, and a more aggressive hormone therapy. Two didn't take but the others did, much to their elation.

Twins, she would carry their twins. She was elated. After so many losses, she would give them not one, but two babies. 

Now here she was, an empty husk, attached to IV's and machines. With only another person's hand as her anchor in the dismal reality of failure.

God how she wanted it to be over. She didn't want to wake. To see David and Terry's faces as the fact of her inadequacy came fully to light.

The hand that held hers squeezed gently and gave in to the sweet repose of sleep.

 

* * *

 

"We've come this far. She's put herself through so much for us. I can't stand the idea of telling her we want to try again with someone else." 

Sherlock was coming back from the vending machines when he came upon David, and who he assumed could only be Terry, speaking in hushed voices outside Molly's hospital room. 

"I hate it too, babe, but we only have so many chances at this and- Can I help you?" Terry changed gears mid-thought when he caught Sherlock listening to them. 

"Yes, could you get the door please?" He was holding a cup of tea in each hand, gesturing to the door with a nod of his head. A tech had come in to perform a transvaginal ultrasound. Sherlock saw it as an opportunity to take his leave but instead of leaving the hospital altogether he found himself dropping coins into a vending machine to get tea for them both.

"Excuse me, but who are you?" Terry asked.

"You're the bloke that was with Molly the other day." David said. It almost sounded like a question. Sherlock's appearance at this particular moment was significantly less polished than how he typically presented himself to the world. 

"Sherlock Holmes." He supplied as if that answered everything. Then added a rather brusque "Door?" 

"What brings you here, Sherlock?" Terry asked casually, almost masking his suspicious tone of voice. But his inflection, slightly narrowed eyes, and pursed lips did not escape Sherlock's notice.

"A cab." He answered smugly then added "After I awoke next to a puddle of blood and followed the trail to find Molly haemorrhaging in the bathroom." for good measure.

Terry and David gawped, dumbstruck. 

"Molly didn't tell us she had a boyfriend." said David.

"And, to my knowledge, that is true." Sherlock assented, his voice edged with annoyance.

"Then what were you doing in her bed?" Terry asked.

"Sleeping." Sherlock answered as if it were the most tediously obvious answer in the universe.

Terry raised his brows, unamused, and opened his mouth to snap back with something snarky when David's hand on his shoulder stalled him.

"I'm sorry if we're coming across as nosey but... What is the exact nature of your relationship with Molly?" David formed the question as diplomatically as he could.

"What business is it of yours?" Sherlock sneered before balancing both cups in one hand and stepping past the two men to open the door to her room himself. 

He didn't understand why he suddenly felt so on edge. He should be pleased that David and Terry were moving on to a different surrogate. This way he can have his usual Molly back in the lab, unencumbered by this nonsense. But the notion that these two supposed friends of hers could so casually discard her, after her usefulness ran out, infuriated him.

 _But isn't that what you do to her all the time?_ Mind Palace John asked. 

Sherlock didn't feel like examining that statement further as he settled beside her setting the little cup on the tray table next to her bed. 

She thanked him enthusiastically, she seemed unusually jovial for what she had just gone through and beamed at David and Terry as they entered, following behind Sherlock. 

He frowned. He had just deemed them undeserving of her warmth and here she was flashing them her widest grin, in defiance of his judgment.

The Doctor in the corner rose from his stool  and shook Terry and David's hands, introducing himself. The name wasn't important, what was important was the information he had to impart.

Even after everything that had come before one of the embryos held on. She'd lost one but the other seemed determined to continue occupying Molly's uterus.

There were tears and hugs and handshakes happening all around him as if he were not even there. After several moments of relative invisibility, he took his leave of her. Congratulating the two men who were responsible for her condition on his way out.

 

 

 


End file.
